One Secret Summer (52 page)

MADDY

London, June 2000

Maddy shook off the drops of water from her umbrella and propped it against the wall. The flat was lovely and quiet: Darcy
was at playschool. She took off her raincoat and walked into the living room. The cleaner had been in the day before and everything
was spotless. Just looking at it made her feel calmer. She kicked off her shoes and walked over to the couch. It seemed almost
a pity to destroy its soft, plumped-up comfort. She sat down, picked up the pad and pen that were lying neatly aligned on
the coffee table and opened to the page she’d been working on the night before.

She ran a finger down the list on one side of the page. Those were all the possible agents, listed alphabetically. Next to
them were the smaller theatre companies – occasionally, very occasionally, an actor might be hired on the strength of a tape
or an interview. It was a long shot, but definitely worth trying. Finally, next to them she’d drawn up a list of cooperatives,
tightly knit groups of anything between two and twenty actors who worked and sometimes lived together, putting on their own
productions and performances, taking care of the business end of things
themselves. She would try every single avenue; she wasn’t fussy. She couldn’t afford to be, that was the point. She’d wasted
four years here in London; she couldn’t afford to waste another four minutes. Christ, if Julia could get herself invited halfway
round the world to speak, surely she could manage to get herself the tiniest, most insignificant part? She had to lift the
cloud of hopelessness that seemed to have descended permanently on her. Rafe couldn’t do it for her, neither could Julia.
Only she could. Alone. Armed with her new-found determination and a long list of numbers, she picked up the phone and began
to dial.

Two hours later, she’d gone through the long list of agents and was halfway down the theatre companies without a single spark
of hope. The responses were always the same. ‘Sorry, we’re not taking on anyone new at present,’ or ‘Do send in a tape and
a CV. We’ll be in touch.’ All she wanted was the chance to
see
someone – she didn’t care who – an agent, a casting director, a producer, a talent scout … anyone! How would she ever persuade
anyone she was any good if they weren’t prepared to see her? An old tape of a performance in a play none of them had ever
heard of, directed by a young American whom they’d never read and reviewed by American critics whose opinions meant nothing
to them was hardly likely to persuade anyone on this side of the pond to hire her. No, she’d have to do it on the strength
of her personality and talent … and how to convince anyone she had either when she was on the other disembodied end of a telephone
was anyone’s guess.

Wearily she picked up the phone again. The London Theatre Company was a small set-up known for its experimental, cutting-edge
performances. Maddy had actually sent them a tape when she first arrived in London. She steeled herself for disappointment
as soon as the phone was picked up, but to her great surprise, the voice on the other end of the phone was warm. ‘Madison
Stiller. Gosh, I remember the name. It’s unusual. Didn’t you send us something a few years back?’

‘Y-yes, yes I did. About four years ago. I … I can’t believe
you’d remember that,’ Maddy stammered, her face immediately going bright red with pleasure. She was glad the woman on the
other end of the phone couldn’t see her.

‘I remember your name. Why don’t you come in and see me?’

Maddy almost dropped the phone. ‘When? Now? I mean, what would be a good time for you?’ The words came tumbling out, one after
the other.

Stephanie Whyte chuckled. ‘How about next week? We’re running a production of
Hedda Gabler
at the moment. Tonight’s the last performance. Do come – I think you’ll enjoy it.’

It was all Maddy could do to stay standing upright. ‘Oh, I’d
love
to but I’ve got a young daughter … No, yes, I’ll come.
Thank
you.’ She managed to stop herself just in time. Her childcare arrangements were hardly likely to interest the director of
the London Theatre Company. Stammering another round of thanks, she put down the phone, her pulse racing. Whom could she leave
Darcy with for all of four hours that evening? There was only one person – and much as it killed her to ask Diana for help,
there was nothing else for it. She wouldn’t have missed the performance for anything.

Enjoyment was too mild a term for the rush of emotions that swept through her as the play unfolded. Maddy sat in the back
row, entranced. She felt a chasm open up inside her and for the next ninety minutes nothing in the world existed save the
performance in front of her and Ibsen’s timeless, poetic suggestion that the key to the future lay in embracing the past,
not rejecting it. It was as if the message were directed at her alone; the words spoken for her.

‘It’s a very small part, I warn you. But it’s a start.’ A week after she’d gone along to see them, the London Theatre Company
had good news – she’d been asked to audition for a part. Maddy sat opposite Stef Whyte, almost too stunned to speak. Stef
peered at her over the top of the multicoloured rim of her
glasses. ‘We’re inundated with Americans at the moment, unfortunately. And even more unfortunately for you, they tend to be
famous. That’s the draw. In your case … well, let’s just say you’ll be starting at the other end of the spectrum.’

Maddy nodded her head vigorously. She didn’t care where she started … the fact that she was starting at all was gift enough.
She looked at the script in her hand and felt her toes begin to curl with excitement. The opening description brought out
the hairs along the back of her neck.
Flames perceptible through ice. Mishima believed that this quality was found in classical Japanese poetry and in the Noh plays,
where the passion is shielded under polished surfaces.
‘Th … thank you,’ she said fervently. ‘
Thank
you.’

‘Don’t thank me,’ Stef laughed. ‘You haven’t got the part yet!’

She practically ran all the way down Upper Street, still clutching the script to her chest, and got on the bus at Newington
Green. She made her way upstairs and sat right at the back, oblivious to the sounds and noise around her. The bus lurched
its way past the Angel, past King’s Cross and Euston and was winding its way slowly down Oxford Street before Maddy realised
she’d missed her stop – by about a mile. She jumped off and ran all the way home. She couldn’t wait to read the rest.

She was still full of excitement when Rafe came home that evening. ‘OK, OK, just let me get my coat off,’ he protested, when
she tried to describe the play to him in the hallway. ‘So what’s the part?’

‘Oh, it’s a tiny part. If I get it, I’ll have about three lines, I promise you … nothing big. But you’ll never guess who’s
playing the lead.’

‘Who?’ Rafe unwound his scarf.

She could feel the smile stretching across her face. ‘Judi Dench. And Maggie Smith’s in it, too. It’s by this Japanese playwright,
Yukio Mishima,’ she went on. ‘It’s an adaptation of the story of Marquis de Sade, told through the eyes of the
women. It’s amazing, Rafe … just amazing. You
have
to read it.’ She only just managed to suppress a smile. Rafe hadn’t read anything non-medical in a decade, as far as she
knew. ‘Or I’ll read it to you. D’you want to hear my part?’

Rafe made a quick grimace. ‘Look, d’you mind if you read it to me some other time? There’s cricket on tonight and I’ve had
a hellish day.’

Maddy stared at him. She could feel her enthusiasm slowly seeping out of her pores. Cricket? ‘No, you go right ahead. I’ll
just do the washing-up.’ She turned on her heel and walked through to the kitchen, her eyes smarting.
Cricket?

NIELA/JULIA/MADDY

London, June 2000

‘We can’t
not
go,’ Niela said calmly, clearing the dishes from the table and taking them through to the kitchen. ‘It’s your father’s birthday.
It’s disrespectful.’

‘Christ, Niela … a whole
week
?’

‘We don’t have to stay for the whole week,’ she said, coming back into the living room. ‘We could go for the party, stay a
day or two and then come back.’

He sighed but she knew the argument had already been won. She breathed a sigh of relief. He’d been back from Mozambique for
over a week, and although she was overjoyed to have him home again, the distance that she often sensed in him when he first
returned was still there. He’d said very little beyond the usual comments about what they’d managed or failed to accomplish.
She was due to leave at the end of June for a two-week assignment in Yemen; there was no word yet on where Josh would go next.
But at least they would have some time off in
Mougins together. She was curious about the place; it seemed to hold the key to so much of who Josh was and what he’d become.
She found herself thinking ahead to the party and to the daunting prospect of spending a week with the people he seemed to
both love and despise. She knew, even if he didn’t, that the situation was in no way as simple as he made it seem.

Julia stepped out of the doctor’s office just off Harley Street and made her way down the Marylebone Road towards Baker Street.
It was raining lightly, but she didn’t notice. The doctor’s words still reverberated in her ears. ‘Well, the good news is,
there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you. No reason at all why you shouldn’t be able to conceive. We’ve run all the tests;
everything’s come back well within normal ranges … no, there’s no medical reason that
I
can see that’s preventing it from happening.’ She’d looked at him, almost afraid to ask the next question. But she had to.

‘So if the problem’s not with me …’ she’d said hesitantly. ‘You’re saying there may be a problem with my husband?’

‘It’s possible. He’ll need to come in for us to run a few tests. You can make an appointment with my secretary. I’m fairly
sure we can fit him in reasonably quickly.’ Julia said nothing. Her heart sank. She and Aaron had had one conversation – just
one – about the issue and she’d never dared bring it up again. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me,’ he’d said coldly, putting
down his paper and glaring at her with such hostility that she regretted opening her mouth.

‘Of course there isn’t,’ she’d hastened to assure him. ‘But there might be something the matter with
me
. It’s always better to check these things out. It might be something really simple.’

‘Yeah, well, if you feel like having someone prod about inside you, fine.
I
don’t. And I don’t want to discuss it either.’ And that was that. She hadn’t dared bring it up again.

‘Is there something the matter?’ the doctor asked kindly, noticing her silence.

‘It’s just … I don’t know … my husband’s a little … er, reluctant.’

The doctor regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Infertility’s a difficult thing for many men to accept, quite frankly. People – especially
men – tend to think of it as primarily a woman’s problem; completely erroneously, of course. But you’ve done the right thing
and had yourself checked out – now your husband needs to come in. That way we can get to the cause of the problem and see
what sort of help we can offer. We can’t do that until we know what’s wrong.’

Julia was silent. She had the sinking feeling that this was going to be harder than she thought. ‘I’ll … I’ll try,’ she said,
sliding down from the examination table. ‘But he’s pretty set against the whole thing.’

‘Once he hears there’s nothing wrong with you, he’ll change his mind. Trust me, I’ve seen it many times before.’

‘I hope so,’ Julia said, pulling on her coat. ‘I really hope so.’

Now, walking down the escalators towards the Tube, she was again assailed by doubt. Perhaps she should wait until they’d gone
on holiday to bring it up. He’d be more relaxed then. He was under a lot of pressure at work – something to do with the taxation
and corporation section having lost a few cases recently … nothing to do with Aaron personally, or so it seemed, but the pressure
was on nonetheless. Not for the first time, Julia was glad of the relative anonymity of her department. After her trip, she’d
been thinking long and hard about where her future might lie – did she want to continue where she was, or was she brave enough
to make a break? It didn’t seem the right time to bring it up with Aaron … plus there was the awkward little detail that she’d
said nothing about meeting Josh in Johannesburg. She couldn’t explain why she hadn’t mentioned it – there just didn’t seem
to be a right moment, that was all. And it wasn’t as if anything had happened – well, that depended on how you defined it,
she thought to herself wryly. No, they’d barely talked; he’d made no move to touch her, nor she him … aside from the strange
invitation to come along to Braamfontein that
night, it was almost as if they hadn’t met. So why hadn’t she mentioned it to Aaron? And why, if nothing had happened, did
she feel as guilty as if it had?

‘Julia?’ Aaron’s voice floated up the stairwell. ‘Come
on
… where the hell are you?’

‘Coming,’ Julia shouted back. She took one last look around her, picked up her small suitcase and shut the bedroom door. ‘Sorry,’
she said as she walked down the stairs, the suitcase banging awkwardly against her legs. ‘I forgot something.’

‘Christ, anyone’d think we were going for a month,’ Aaron grumbled, locking the front door behind them. ‘We’re late.’

‘No, we’re not. There’s loads of time. Train’s not until one o’clock … we’ve got hours yet.’

‘You know I hate being late.’ Aaron stowed the cases in the boot of the rented car.

Julia sighed but said nothing. The last thing she wanted or felt like was an argument before they’d even begun the journey
down to Mougins. She was looking forward to it; would Josh be there? She’d been unable to ask Diana directly, and Maddy didn’t
seem to know, or care. She’d been forced to miss an audition for a part in a play because of the birthday party – when she
rang Julia the week before, she’d been in tears. Rafe wouldn’t hear of her missing the party; she had no option but to turn
the part down. Poor Maddy, Julia thought to herself, unable to come up with anything even remotely comforting to say. The
thought of not being able to do exactly what she wanted, when she wanted and how she wanted was so alien to her that she didn’t
even know where to begin. What could she
say? Nothing, it seemed. Maddy’s life was so different from her own that she had difficulty imagining her pain.